


Beneath the Oak Tree

by LumosLyra



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Herbology, Hermione Granger Is Here For It, Light Dom/sub, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Neville Longbottom Has A Filthy Mouth, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Hogwarts, Praise Kink, The Smut Grew Feelings, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-27
Updated: 2020-12-27
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:42:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28351875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LumosLyra/pseuds/LumosLyra
Summary: Her knickers were ruined.And all because Neville Longbottom was carrying bags of soil into the greenhouse the muggle way.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Neville Longbottom
Comments: 46
Kudos: 283





	Beneath the Oak Tree

**Author's Note:**

> I wasn't planning to write a Neville/Hermione smut-shot today. But... the cauldron dungeon crew convinced me it needed to be done, so here we are. These two might be my new OTP. It's completely unbeta'd, so there may be errors. Enjoy!

Her knickers were ruined. 

And all because Neville Longbottom was carrying bags of soil into the greenhouse the muggle way. Hermione felt foolish, peeking out from behind one of the sprawling oaks on the grounds of Hogwarts where she’d studied before when she’d been a student, but the cover of the branches and the thickness of the trunk lent her a perfect cover for her voyeurism. One hand brandished his wand, soothing back some plant species unbeknownst to her within while the other balanced a burlap bag on his shoulder. 

It was desperately hot and he’d long ago removed his shirt—not that she’d amidt to herself she’d been watching for that long—and his skin glistened with a light sheen of sweat, or it could’ve been from the bottle of cool water she’d watched him pour over himself a few moments ago. 

One couldn’t be certain. 

But her knickers were at least as wet as his sweat-soaked as his shirt had been and god only knew how much she’d like to be whatever plant he was currently pointing his wand at. 

She’d kept her crush a secret for years, from when they’d been students together at Hogwarts until her disastrous relationship with Ron ended in divorce (they were absolutely better off friends and could laugh about it now), all the way through to his jealousy-infusing tryst with Hannah Abbott. He’d been a kind, bumbling boy in their youth but time and good genes had stretched him into a tall, broad, confident man. He was heavy and thick and she wanted lick and nibble at every muscle lining his arms. 

Who in their right mind would have known Hermione Granger had a thing for a man’s arms? But they were lovely, strong and tan and even though she wasn’t the slightest thing in the world, she imagined he could just about pick her up and toss her about, just like one of those bags of soil. 

Truly, she wouldn’t mind swapping with it because it was highly likely his hand would land smack on her arse if she were draped over his shoulder. The mere thought of it made her thighs sticky. 

And it wasn’t just that she found him attractive, no. 

He was one of those genuinely kind people in the world, that made her feel special even though he treated her with no more or no less regard than anyone else. And while she would have liked a smidge more regard, she enjoyed their stops at the Hogs Head for a pint or a cup of tea in the Kitchens when insomnia got the best of both of them. 

Time and maturity had cultivated a subtle brilliance about him. He’d succeeded Pomona as Professor of Herbology within only a few years of his graduation and their O.W.L. scores in Herbology had never been higher in the history of Hogwarts’ academic record. She’d joined the staff only a year ago, taking over History of Magic and co-teaching Wizard/Muggle Relations with Astoria Malfoy, and while she’d seen him only rarely before then, that schoolgirl crush came back in full force. 

And so, here she was: ruined knickers and all, pining after a man she was all but certain only saw her as a friend. 

He disappeared into the greenhouse and she rubbed her tacky thighs together before flinging herself back against the rough bark of the tree. It wasn’t enough and for the briefest moment, she slipped her fingers beneath her skirt. Shaking fingers pushed her knickers to the side and swiped through her slick folds. Her head fell back with the rush of need that coursed through her, mouth parting in a soft sigh as she circled her clit with her fingers. 

A crunch of footsteps sounded on the grass somewhere behind her and her eyes flew open, slick fingers ripped away as she whirled around to come face to face with the towering object of her desire. 

Oh god. 

He’d seen her, hadn’t he? 

He’d caught prissy little Hermione Granger masturbating in broad daylight behind a  _ bloody  _ tree. 

“Hermione?” Even his voice sounded like velvet to her ears—smooth, deep, and inviting. If he ever wielded his words like she doubted he would, he could probably make her come from talking alone. 

She tried to compose herself, but her voice still came out just a bit too high and she hid her slick-coated fingers behind her back. “Hi, Neville.” 

“Oh good, I thought I saw you.” 

She didn’t know whether to sigh in relief or combust into a thousand tiny pieces. 

“Oh, um. Yes?” 

He stepped into view, broad chest draped once more in damp cotton, rugged khakis clinging to his thighs beneath the slightly plump stomach he still carried from their youth. One hand reached up and grasped a low hanging branch, thick fingers curling around the wood and Hermione knew her cheeks were impossibly flushed because that was probably the hand he used when he pleasured himself. 

“I thought you might be able to help me for a moment. The Dulcet Dahlias are screeching and your singing voice is better than mine. Need to get them calmed down before they wilt, and Draco has my head because the fifth years will need them for something in a few months. 

He seemed oblivious to her predicament, his cheeks flushed from the heat and his voice steady. He only needed her help, no matter that her knickers were out of place and she likely reeked of arousal at this point. 

“Lullaby Liquid,” she whispered. 

Neville leaned forward, forearm flexing under his weight as he held tightly onto the tree branch. “So, you’ll help?” 

She nodded, trying to stem the slight disappointment that flooded through her at the fact that he hadn’t caught her masturbating and that he wasn’t able to take matters into his own hands by shagging her against the oak tree. “Yes, of course,” Hermione said, drawing a deep breath to clear the fog in her head. “Which greenhouse?” 

“Number three.” 

Neither of them moved. 

“Yes. Well...shall we?” she asked, curling her hand into a fist behind her and desperately hoping he might go first so she could at least straighten her knickers. 

He swallowed thickly before gesturing towards the tidy rows of greenhouses with his free hand. “Ladies first.” 

Hermione pressed off of the tree, her hand flexing at her side as she attempted to adopt an air of nonchalance. She brushed past him as he turned causing her fingers to scrape over the dirt-spotted fabric of his trousers, catching on the prominent bulge and smearing the scant evidence of her arousal left on her fingers across the front of his trousers. 

She glanced down, thanking Merlin the fabric hadn’t seemed to change, and back up, to find Neville gazing down at her, hunger in his brown eyes. 

His body twisted, blocking her from moving, keeping her hand just where it had landed. 

Her fingers flexed impulsively, a whimper catching at the edge of her tongue at the size of him, before she ripped her hand away. Her cheeks stained red and her eyes finding sudden interest in the pattern of the grass around Neville’s shoes. 

“Don’t—um. The dahlias. Singing… to-to the plants.” The words tumbled over the lips, disjoined and murky as she tried to focus on what he’d asked of her, not the feel of him against her palm and how much she’d like to feel him again. 

He moved impossibly closer, caging her in with his body, arm dropping from the branch to land against the trunk of the tree behind her. She took a step back, the fabric of her blouse catching on the rough bark of the tree and her hand dropped to her side. 

He leaned down and she arched back involuntarily, fingers tucking curls away from her ear. His breath was cool against her ear as the heat from summer day surrounded them, thick and humid. “I’d like to  _ make _ you sing.” 

Although it could have been the tension between them. 

“To the plants?” she offered meekly, her eyelashes fluttered with each puff of breath against her ear until his hand curled around her waist and she whimpered. 

“ _ My name. _ ” 

She didn’t know where this burst of confidence came from, but her pussy certainly appreciated it, and she felt her walls clench painfully around nothing at his insinuation. She’d expected a bumbling, awkward exchange, but there was none of that now between them and it made her brain go a bit fuzzy. 

Silence stretched between them and Neville’s body sagged, his forehead dropping against hers and his grip on her hip loosening. “I’m sorry, that was—” 

Her hand flew against his mouth, cutting him off in a moment of clarity that it was now or never. “No.” 

She stated it again more firmly, “No. I… I’d like that.” Admitting the closely guarded secret aloud made her body buzz as the anxiety of his impending rejection crept over her. They were friends, nothing more, and she’d read into his tone too many times to know that they would never be anything beyond that. She’d seen him with Hannah—had even gone so far in her jealousy to imagine crafting a voodoo doll and drawing on her great-grandmother’s cajun roots to obliterate the witch—and his interactions with Hannah were nothing like they had ever been with her.

His response was muffled beneath her hand and she slowly drew it away, letting the pads linger over the plump curve of his lower lip before it dropped to her side. 

“You’d like that?” he asked, voice dropping low and his fingers tightening around her hip. 

She nodded, her nose brushing against his. 

His thumb rubbed soft circles over the waistband of her skirt. “If I start, Hermione… I’m not going to want to stop.” 

The words caught on her tongue and she swallowed before she held them back for too long and ruined the moment. “I… I don’t want you to stop. Not now… not… not for a long time.” The confession simultaneously felt like freedom and prison as he held the secrets of her heart within his hands. 

“Thank god.” The words were breathed on a sigh of relief and his mouth covered hers, thick fingers sinking into her curls and pinning her back against the bark of the tree. 

Hermione melted, hands rising to press against his chest, feeling the expanse of muscle against her palms as his thigh slotted between her legs. She pressed against him, rocking her sticky center against his leg as he kissed her, tongue diving into her mouth and tasting her as if he were a man starved. 

He pulled away and Hermione’s head tilted back against the tree, curls tangling and catching against the snarls of bark. Neville tenderly kissed over her cheek to the shell of her ear, one hand settling over her hip and the other just beneath the curve of her breast. 

“I saw you touching yourself, Hermione… just as I was coming to ask you for help.” 

Embarrassment burned through her at the realization she had, in fact, been caught. 

His thumb swiped over the underside of her breast, pulling a gasp from her lips, his knee pressing upward as she rocked her aching quim against his leg, granting her a sharper sensation that made her keen. “I’d very much like to know what you were thinking of that made you so terribly wet that you couldn't wait until you got back inside to touch yourself.” 

Hermione’s teeth sank into her lip, bruising the soft flesh as she fought her shame to find the words to tell him the only thing she’d fantasized about for the past year had been him. 

“Kneazle got your tongue, Hermione?” he said, fingers creeping up to curve around her breast, cupping it with a reverence that didn’t match his dark tone. “Funny, being that you always have something to say.”

Her nipple pebbled beneath his tongue, thumb and forefinger grasping the sensitive bud and twisting. “Perhaps I’ll just keep you on edge until you tell me.” 

She gasped, the rush of lust through her veins burning through the embarrassment. Her hands clawed at his shirt, grasping for purchase as his hand on her waist shifted and stilled her rocking, taking away the sweet sensation of pleasure she craved. 

“I don’t know what you like, Hermione. You’ll have to teach me… but right now, your body tells me that you’ll beg for it, whatever it is.” His lips skated over the curve of her neck, dipping to lick at her pulse point as his fingers pressed against her cunt through the fabric of her skirt. 

She was gone—would beg and plead for each touch he might grant her as long as he didn’t stop. “You,” she rasped out, “I… I fantasize about you.” 

His forehead settled against her shoulder, nose gently nuzzling the exposed skin as his hands pulled away, settling once more against her hips. She whined and he shushed her, the cool breath against her skin causing gooseflesh to erupt over her body. 

Soft lips forged a trail over her neck, his hands holding her steady, keeping her from rutting against his leg. His breath hovered at her ear and threatened to drown her in the rush of it. “Then perhaps, I should just take what I want.” 

“Would you let me do that, Hermione?” One of his hands slipped from her hip to cup her sex through the fabric of her skirt. “Let me fuck this tight little cunt? Worship it with my tongue until you begged me to stop?” 

Neville’s lips pressed against the shell of her ear, tongue drawing over the helix. “Or perhaps… I’m waiting for you to beg me to start.” 

“Will you beg, Hermione? Make those pretty words fall from your lips and I’ll give you the world.” His middle finger slid over her slit through the too-thick fabric of her skirt as he nudged her legs further apart with a press of his boot to her ankle. The scent of her arousal filled the charged space around them and upon his inhale, she shuddered, body trembling within his grasp. 

“I… I…” 

“Say it, Hermione.” His hand grasped her face, thumb and fingers pressing into her jaw as he turned her head, forcing her eyes to his. His soft brown eyes bordered on black, shaggy blond hair framing his rounded face and reminding Hermione of exactly who she’d fantasized about for the past year. Beneath the filthy words falling from his lips and confident display of dominance, he was her first friend, the man she ate breakfast with every morning, the wizard who brought her tea and soup when she fell ill with pixie flu. 

The man she was thoroughly gone for. 

“Please, Neville. I want…” she faltered, bright pink patches blistering over her cheeks as she whispered, “I want you to fuck me.” 

Pride lit up his face and he rewarded her efforts with a gentle kiss to her forehead that gave her hope of something more beyond this tryst near the greenhouses. “Good girl.” His grip on her hip loosened and he withdrew his hand, nudging her dripping folds with his knee. “But you’ll have to earn it.” 

She rocked against his thigh, sighing in relief when he didn’t stop her. “H-how?” she breathed, letting him move her arms until they were twined around his neck. 

His fingers flicked each button through the buttonhole, pushing her shirt open to reveal the soft satin bra holding her breasts. “When you’re right on the edge”—he tugged the cup of her bra down, fingers lifting her breast away from the garment—”you’re going to get on your knees and touch yourself until you can’t stand it anymore while I fuck your mouth.” Neville’s mouth wrapped around her pebbled nipple, drawing the rosy bud against his tongue and pulling a cry from her. “But you don’t get to come until your cunt is filled with my cock. I want to feel you clench around me as you scream my name.” 

“Oh god,” her mouth fell open and her head fell back against the tree trunk again as she rutted against his leg, tension building her abdomen. None of her lovers had ever spoken to her so bluntly, telling her exactly what would happen before it did and the anticipation threatened to kill her. 

Neville’s mouth kissed and sucked at the skin of her breast, leaving small bursts of colour behind until his hands dropped to her hips, stopping her movements abruptly once more. She whined as her thighs shook, desperate for release and his hands shifted to her shoulders, pressing down until her knees buckled and she sank into the soft grass at the base of the tree trunk. 

“None of that, Hermione,” he said, his fingers brushing against her cheek. “Spread your legs like a good girl and tug your skirt up, let me see you.” 

He stepped back and she closed her eyes, fingers twisting the hem of her skirt between them before drawing it up around her waist. Her knickers still skewed to the side, baring her cunt to him, pink folds peeking out beneath a thatch of dark hair, glistening and ripe with arousal. 

She must look a mess. Curls in disarray, breasts spilling over the top of her bra and her skirt rucked up around her waist. Her cheeks burned, but she remembered his words and her fingers released her skirt and she opened her eyes, daring herself to watch him as her fingers slipped through sodden curls to find her center. The pride in his eyes and the boyish smile on his lips send a thrill running through her and she couldn’t hold his gaze for long. Her eyes fluttered closed and soft sounds of her pleasure filled the space beneath the oak tree as she dipped her fingers into her cunt. 

“Taste yourself.” His words cut through the air and Hermione’s fingers trembled as she lifted them to her lips, tongue swiping out to catch the small droplets of her essence on her fingers. 

Neville took a step closer, hands unclasping his belt as she licked her fingers clean. Her other hand released her skirt, holding it in place with her forearm as her hand drifted down to tease her clit, rubbing soft circles around the sensitive bud. 

A zipper lowered and Hermione’s eyes flew open, fingers still trapped in her mouth as Neville tugged his cock free from the confines of his trousers. Her fingers sped up, pushing her closer to that inevitable peak as his hand wrapped around the length, drawing long strokes from base to tip and back again. 

He was impossibly thick and long. She could nearly see the blood pulsing through bluish veins running the swollen length and her mouth watered at the sight. Hermione never knew she could want something as badly as she wanted to taste him, to touch him, to bring him to the brink of madness where he insisted upon keeping her. 

“Do you see what you do to me, Hermione?” he asked, taking another step closer until the thick head was positioned near her lips. 

She opened her mouth before he could ask it of her, laying her tongue flat against her teeth and waiting, fingers working furiously over her clit until she was a panting mess. He pressed the head against her tongue and she leaned forward curving her lips around him. She moaned around him, the thick muscle of her tongue working over his length as she pulled him further into her mouth. 

“Don’t you dare come, Hermione.” His hand curled into her hair, holding her by the base of her skull as her hand wrapped around him, palm pressing against the velvety skin and her fingers barely meeting around his girth. “You look so pretty like this. Cheeks flushed, mouth full of cock… cunt on display.” Neville pressed further into her mouth, stretching her wide with each gentle thrust. 

Her thighs trembled and she moaned softly with each sliding thrust, her hand teasing her entrance when she couldn’t take any more pressure on her clit, lest she combust on the spot. 

He pulled out of her mouth, the dark swollen head of his cock resting against her pouted lips as she teetered on the edge. “P-please, Neville,” her finger flicked her clit sending a shockwave riveting through her, “I need to come.” 

He leaned over her, bracing his hand against the trunk of the tree as he stroked his cock against her lips, smearing the drops of precum over her lips in some ancient primal ritual that lit a renewed flame within her belly. “I know you do,” he rasped, voice thick and heavy but still in control. “Don’t stop.” 

She rocked against her hand, fingers desperately playing over her clit, smearing the dripping arousal from her core through her folds as she held herself where he wanted her. Warmth coated her body in a cocoon, trapping her in a hazy prison of need. “I want…” she moaned, feeling her muscles tighten. “I want you to fuck me… please, Neville.” 

His cock dropped from her lips and his hand caressed her cheek, “Such a good girl, begging for what you want. Take your hand away.” Hermione whimpered but followed the command, “I know, love, I know. Soon,” he crooned, bending low and lifting her to her feet as if she weighed nothing. 

Hermione’s legs shook and her knees throbbed, but Neville held her steady, dotting her forehead with gentle kisses as her muscles stretched. He wound her arms around his neck and lifted her, capturing her mouth in a kiss as he turned them around. Her back pressed against the bark of the tree, the fabric of her skirt scraping over the rough surface. 

Soft thighs pressed against the jut of his hip bones as she wrapped her legs around his waist. He was like a beacon in the night, a steady guide toward home as he lined his cock up with her core and pressed into her. With each inch, he stretched her open, fitting her to him until the head of his cock nestled against her cervix and he withdrew before he gave another slow thrust. 

“So good, Hermione. Like you were made for me. You’re perfect,” he mumbled, the words rapturous against her skin. 

Small hands braced against his shoulders and she moaned, his name falling reverently from her lips as it had a hundred times before when she’d imagined this very thing. He kissed her, tongue pressing into her mouth and swallowing each sound of pleasure that bubbled up from her throat as he drove his hardness into her. Slick coated his cock, the evidence of her desire staining his trousers. 

“Touch yourself, sweetheart. I want to feel you come.” 

Her fingers slipped between their writhing bodies to circle her clit, the bite of the bark against her back magnifying her pleasure as he took his fill of her. With each thrust he took her apart and built her back up, frenetic energy building around them. 

It was as if lightning flashed. Her vision was blanketed in white and a slow shock rippled through her body, walls tightening around Neville as Hermione desperately grasped at his body for something tangible to keep her tethered to the ground. 

The sound of her name drifted through her ears as he found his end, each thick rope of his seed against her walls sending another wave of pleasure radiating from her core. His knees buckled and he sank to the ground, holding her impossibly close to him. Strong arms bracketed her frame, her legs locked together at the ankles around his middle, thick cock still buried tightly within her pulsing walls. 

His forehead pressed against hers, ragged breaths coming from his mouth as he softened inside of her. Heavy hands stroked over her back as she caught her breath, drawing deep breaths of the freshly mown grass and the herbal scent he carried from the greenhouses. 

“Hermione, that was…” 

“Yeah.” 

His fingers plucked a twig from her curls and discarded it and her head dropped against his shoulder, fingers playing through his dark blond hair. She wanted to live in this moment of impossibility forever, to keep him close and never let him go, but doubt began to creep in, cooling her veins even as she still burned for him. 

“Did I hurt you?” he asked quietly. “It’s just that—”

“No, Neville. Of course, not. You were… better than anything I could have imagined. Perfect, really.” 

His lips lingered over her forehead, their bodies still locked together, neither willing to be the one to break the spell. “How long have we wasted, pining after one another?” 

Her head popped up and hope bloomed in her chest. She met his gaze, small hands sliding out of his hair to cup his stubbled jaw, thumbs brushing over the soft expanse of his cheeks. 

“Years,” she admitted, quietly. 

His nose brushed against hers, guiding her head up just enough to allow his lips to surge against hers with breathless urgency. 

“Years, but no more. You’ll be mine?” he asked, pressing up onto his knees and laying her gently back in the grass, his softened cock slipping free from her core and leaving an ache behind that only he could fill.

“Yours,” she echoed, smiling up at him. 

A sharp muffled cry sounded over the meadow and Neville’s head dropped on her shoulder. “Fuck, the dahlias.” 

“I didn’t realize you were into that sort of thing,” Hermione teased and Neville swatted at her hip with his hand. 

Hermione laughed, arms falling back over her head as a wide smile spread over her face. “If I sing to the plants, can we continue this in the greenhouse?” 

A spark lit in Neville’s eyes and a predatory smile slid across his lips. “Already begging for more?” 

“You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?” 

  
  
  



End file.
